


Love came to stay

by LakeWitch



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Christmas Music, Christmas Party, Eventual Fluff, Holidays, Keris/Trixie (background), Light Angst, M/M, Magic Words class, Mistletoe, Nightmares, Non-con kiss, Snow, Swearing, The Catacombs, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Cries, Watford (Simon Snow), Watford Eighth Year, because of enchanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LakeWitch/pseuds/LakeWitch
Summary: For her Magic Words assignment, Penny enchants a sprig of mistletoe with Aretha Franklin's song lyric:Kissin' by the mistletoe, love came to stay.She tests it out on Trixie and Keris, and it works; their feet are frozen to the floor until they share a kiss.Trixie thinks it's brilliant—so brilliant in fact that she decides it'll make the Watford Holiday party much more fun.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 16
Kudos: 249





	Love came to stay

**Author's Note:**

> Hi ❤️
> 
> In case you missed it in the tags:
> 
> Warnings for a non-consensual kiss, and for swearing
> 
> (And yeah, I know this is October lol)

**PENELOPE**

'Jingle bells, jingle bells,' I sing under my breath as I research. 'Jingle all the … way …'

I'm sat at my desk, flipping through Christmas carol lyrics on my mobile, searching for something I can use. 

Justin Bieber - "Mistletoe"? Maybe … just maybe. 

I wince a little (because I wouldn't exactly consider myself a fan) as I skim through what his team of writers has created for him. It's awful … but, if it works, it works. After all, he is quite popular so there may be something magical in there. 

While aiming my ring overtop the scrap of mistletoe I've managed to get, I try out the lines: **Kiss me underneath the mistletoe (kiss me underneath the mistletoe). Show me, baby, that you love me so-oh-oh, oh, oh, oh.**

Well that's horrendous—I can't believe I read that all out loud. 

Nothing happens. 

I try: **With you, shawty with you. With you, under the mistletoe, yeah.**

Nope. The mistletoe lies limp and dormant. I sigh, and give up on that song. 

I need something that has to do with mistletoe, obviously. (And you'd think there'd be plenty of options?) (You'd think, yeah, but I've been at this for hours.) 

Oh … 

This might work—Aretha Franklin - "Kissin' by the Mistletoe." She's popular—and certainly less divisive than Bieber. It's an older song too, so has more staying power. 

I skim through the lyrics, and find something promising. The fact that the line includes "kissing", "love" and refers to said love as steadfast, is quite good. 

So I go ahead and cast it: **Kissin' by the mistletoe, love came to stay.**

Clean and simple. 

The sprig on my desk sparks, twitches, and floats itself above overhead, encircling the ceiling as if it's looking for something. 

Hmm, I'm optimistic, but will it work as I intend it to? 

I hear her before I see her—those inexcusable bell earrings she's taken to this year. And okay, admittedly now is an appropriate time for jingling earrings _but_ she's worn them since September so I've no tolerance for them by now. Sometimes she even forgets to take them out at night, and they jingle every time she changes positions. Hence, I've taken to checking her ears before bed so I can remind her before she falls into a deep/unrousable sleep. It's awful. 

The door opens and Trixie comes skipping in with bells bouncing, already giggling, hand-in-hand with Keris. 

I frown. (I know, I _am_ trying to be a bit more tolerant of her this year. It's just impossible, you know?) 

'Oh! Hi Pen!' Trixie chirps, grinning at me. 

'Hello.' I say it just the once as a blanket greeting for the both of them. 

The sprig of mistletoe hurries towards Trixie and Keris, vibrating as if it's excited. 

It whirls to a stop above their heads, and Trixie nearly topples over—Keris rescues her from injury with both hands. 

The soles of their shoes appear to be planted magically to the floor. 

(I’m taking notes.) 

'Whoa, what's happened?' Trixie asks brightly. 

'Penelope …' Keris says, with a bit more uncertainty, as she twists to make eye contact with me. 

And I'm grinning. I can't help it. 

I think it's worked! 

'Look up,' I say. 

They do, and spot the white and green plant above their heads. 

Trixie beams with delight. 'Mistletoe!' She lowers her sparkling eyes to Keris, and Keris meets them. 

Here we go again. I would groan or avert my eyes … but, well, I have to watch because this is my experiment, after all. 

They lean in towards each other, and kiss happily. 

The mistletoe above their heads bounces and does a little flip, looking positively joyful. Then it floats up and resumes a slow circle around the four corners of our ceiling. 

Keris takes a tentative step. 

She's un-stuck. 

Trixie follows suit, and looks wide-eyed at me. 'You magicked a mistletoe, Pen? _Brilliant_.' 

_Yes_. Now I'll just need to do a write-up on the theory behind it and I'm sure to ace this Magic Words assignment.

**SIMON**

'Idiot.'

'Arsehole,' I counter. Baz is the bane of my entire existence, I swear. 

He rolls his eyes and heads to his seat. 

I glare at the back of his head, even though it accomplishes nothing. 

'What is it now?' Penny asks, sinking into her seat beside me. 

'Nothing,' I grumble. Baz is just being his usual self. (He accused me of touching one of his precious bottles in the bathroom. And I did no such thing.) 

'Who would like to go first?' Miss Possibelf asks the class. We're presenting our final term assignments during the last three classes before Christmas hols. I'm hoping to present on the last day because I haven't exactly finished yet. 

Penny is already raising her hand, and lifting up on her chair a bit. 

Baz lifts a polite hand himself. 

'Very well, Miss Bunce, please come up.' 

'Yesss,' I hear her hiss under her breath in triumph as she gathers her loose papers and a shoebox. 

Penny waltzes up to the front of the classroom and turns to us, grinning. She takes a breath first and pushes up her glasses, before announcing, 'I've used the Aretha Franklin song lyric "Kissin' by the mistletoe, love came to stay" to enchant—well—a mistletoe. It's charmed to locate two people in love, and it freezes their feet in place until they share a kiss.' 

Without warning or preamble, she lifts the lid, and a fist-sized plant shoots out, and beelines straight for … I scrunch up my forehead, because it's gone straight to Baz, hovering above his head. 

Penny eyes Baz with a sudden great interest. 'Basilton, it likes you.' 

His posture is rigid, and I can just imagine the glower he's shooting at Penny right now. 

'You're in love,' she says softly, smiling up at her project. 

_You're in love _.__

__A shiver runs through me at that very moment and I'm not sure what I'm thinking._ _

__Who does he love?_ _

__No. I don't care. I don't._ _

__Has he got a girlfriend though? I think I'd know if he had a girlfriend, and I don't think he does._ _

__Does he?_ _

__It doesn't matter; I don't care, not at all._ _

__Baz scrapes his chair back, and pulls out his wand. ' **Bugger off!** ' _ _

__The mistletoe flies back several metres as Baz gets up out of his seat and storms off._ _

__I watch him as he makes to leave the classroom—he doesn't look at me but I can tell he's feeling murderous._ _

__Hmm._ _

__Penny clears her throat. 'Well then. Are there any questions?'_ _

__Rhys raises his hand. 'What if they refuse to kiss?'_ _

__Penny frowns and blinks at him. 'Well they _wouldn't_ , it only goes after two people in love.' _ _

__'Just because two people love each other, doesn't mean they want to kiss,' Rhys says, looking around for back-up._ _

__'Exactly,' says Agatha, 'what if they're with other people, for example? It could cause a lot of problems,'_ _

__Penny furrows her brow in thought._ _

__The mistletoe shakes itself, evidently recovered from Baz's spell. It wobbles a bit in the air, and then it heads straight for _me_. _ _

__Conversation continues around the room, but all I'm thinking is: _I'm not in love_. _ _

__I mean, I guess I still love Agatha, in the way that I always sort-of will. But I don't think that kind of love was Penny's intention … It's just not the kind of super-romantic thing I think she was going for._ _

__Plus, I don't think Agatha or I would be happy about being forced to kiss right now. (It's still so awkward between us.)_ _

__So yeah. I definitely love people (Penny, Agatha, Ebb) but I'm not _in_ love with anyone. _ _

__'Nonetheless, very good spell-making Miss Bunce. You can have a seat,' Miss Possibelf says. 'Now that our other volunteer has run off, who's next?'_ _

__Penny returns to the seat beside me, looking as if her thoughts are miles away._ _

__I lean in close to whisper. 'Penny—'_ _

__'Mm?' She turns to me slowly. She's distracted but, well, so am I._ _

__'I'm not in love though,' I say quite adamantly._ _

__'Hmm?'_ _

__I point above my head._ _

__She tilts her head up and blinks at it. 'Oh.'_ _

____

**TRIXIE**

'Are you sure about this, love?' Keris asks me from behind, as I'm rifling around in Pen's wardrobe.

'Yes!' 

'It's just … maybe forcing people to kiss isn't really … nice?' 

'It's Christmas! And who wouldn't want a kiss?' To back up my point, I turn and kiss _her_ , and she makes a happy little purr against my lips. I could kiss her forever, she is my _favourite_. 

When I break away, Keris has a bit of glitter on her cheek. I thumb at it, and smile. 'I love you.' 

'I love you too,' she returns, blinking slowly at me. She's like a cat, I love her. 

'Back to work!' I announce, spinning to stick my hand up in the topmost shelf. 

Ah. My fingertips brush against a corner. This is it—I know it! 

I pull it out, take a peek to confirm, before shuffling Keris out of the room. We've a holiday party to make more interesting. 

The party in the dining hall is already in full-swing when we enter. They've removed some of the tables for a dance floor, and lovely holiday tunes are playing from the speakers in the corner. The room is quite dark, decorated with white fairy lights strung across the ceiling. It looks like starlight … 

I turn to Keris, to admire the way the soft light glows off her dark skin. She is the most beautiful person. Inside and out, no contest. 'I love you,' I say again (because I mean it; because it's Christmas and I feel warm—like everything's going to be just fine.) 

'I love you too,' she answers, wide-eyed. 

I give her hand a squeeze, and then I lift the lid on the shoebox straight off. 

She and I watch the mistletoe as it whirls with excitement, making a big sweeping circle near the ceiling, before beelining for someone. 

Ah. Basilton Grimm-Pitch. 

_Excellent choice, mistletoe,_ I'm thinking, because he is looking far too grumpy and brooding for such a lovely holiday party. 

A nice kiss would be sure to get him into the Christmas spirit.

**BAZ**

I'm not sure why I came.

Perhaps because it's the last party of the calendar year before we all go home for the holidays. Well, not all of us. 

I glance over at my roommate, who is currently stuffing his face with biscuits by the refreshment table. 

Snow will stay here over the holidays. (I overheard Wellbelove telling him he wasn't invited.) 

And after the holidays, it'll only be a few short months until graduation. Then I'll never see Simon Snow again. 

So yes, maybe I came because of that. 

Fat lot it'll do me, really. Just to take advantage of one more occasion to watch Snow stuff his face from across a crowded room. 

I take what I can get though, I suppose. (I'm pathetic.) 

Speaking of pathetic, perhaps it's time I tell Snow how barbaric he looks, just to have his undivided attention for a blessed moment. 

I set off for the refreshment table, and straddle up next to him. 

'Snow—' I'm cut off by the startling sensation of my feet becoming firmly planted to the ground. 

'What,' he barks through a mouthful of biscuits, turning sharply towards me—and he topples. 

I catch him by the forearm, purely on instinct, and steady him. Snow immediately yanks his arm away from me, nearly making himself fall down again in the opposite direction. He latches onto the table's edge to right himself. 

'What the hell have you done to me?! My feet—' 

'I didn't do anything.' Crowley, he's predictable. Everything is my sodding fault, isn't it? 

'Undo it! Right now!' 

I roll my eyes. 'If you bothered to _look_ for just one moment, you'd see that _I_ am in fact stuck as well.' 

Snow scrunches up his brow, and looks down at my feet. 

Without another word to me (rude), Snow twists his body round to shout, 'Penny!' 

I sigh. Simon Snow cannot do _one bloody thing_ without Penelope Bunce, can he? 

'Penny!' he shouts louder, to be heard over the awful holiday music. 

' _What_ , Simon?' she appears, furrowing her brow at me, and at him. 

'We're stuck,' Snow says, making a sweeping gesture towards our feet. 

Bunce blinks at Snow, then at me, and then her gaze slowly lifts into the air above our heads. Her mouth pinches into a straight line, just as a chill runs up my spine. 

She swallows, then casts, ' **As you were.** ' 

Nothing. 

' **Take it away**.' 

I dread to look up, I really do. 

I look up. 

_Fuck_. 

'Bunce,' I utter through bared teeth. 

'It wasn't me! I swear I didn't—' she fumbles, holding both palms up. 

'What? What is it?' Snow butts in. 

I take a deep breath. I'm quite determined to not even _think_ the answer to Snow's question. 

' **You don't have to** ,' Bunce casts, instead of answering her friend. ' **Into thin air!** ' 

Nothing. 

I pull out my wand and cast, ' **Nonsense**.' 

Fuck! 

Then, pointing it up at the thing: ' **Away. Back off. Bugger off. Hell hath no fury.** ’ Fire shoots out of my wand, but the sodding plant is unmoved, unharmed. 

'Baz …' says Bunce. And I know exactly what she means. 

'No.' 

'What is going on?' Snow asks, more desperately now. 

My fire seems to have attracted a bit of attention. A small crowd is gathering, and I hear muffled whispers behind hands. Eyes are darting up towards the sodding thing, and back down at us with wide eyes. 

Bunce whirls around and casts, ' **There's nothing to see here.** ' 

The crowd disperses slowly—people returning to their dancing and whatnot. There's a buzz of mumbling underneath that sodding holiday music though. 

Bunce turns back, and hits me with a pleading stare. 'Baz, it can be quick, it can be—' 

'Will one of you please explain!' 

'Look up, Snow.' I bite back a quip. He really is thick, though. 

I watch Snow's face. I know I shouldn't. 

When recognition dawns on him, the look of horror on his face is sure to haunt me for some time. 

'No!' Snow says, louder than necessary. He shakes his head hard enough to make anyone dizzy, I'm sure. 'Absolutely no way!' 

His eyes drift down to mine, and his mouth twists into revulsion. 

And yes, I'd never expect any different. But I'd rather _assume_ this'd be his reaction, rather than _know_. 

Bunce steps closer to us, so that she can speak softly. 'Simon, the only way out of it is to …' 

Snow still has his lips pulled back and down, baring his teeth in a grimace. He tilts his head up, and addresses the mistletoe, 'I won't! I don't consent! I will not kiss Baz!' 

Biting back a sigh, I try to shift my feet, but they still do not budge even after Snow's declarations. 

Bunce winces. 'I think there's only one way out.' 

'Does it have to be on the mouth?' I ask, forcing a bored tone. 

'I … I'm not sure.' 

I nod, and eye Simon, still glaring up at the mistletoe (if looks could kill …) 

Well, then. Nothing for it than to, well … yeah. Yes. 

I find a target. Simon Snow has three moles on his right cheek, I choose the lowest one, closest to his jaw. 

I lean in, and brush my lips against it in the most-featherlight imitation of a kiss. 

Snow _gasps_ , and recoils. He's staring at me, unblinking, as blotchy scarlet stains appear on his cheeks, like blots of watercolour paint on a wet page.

**SIMON**

No one's ever kissed me anywhere but on the mouth. Until now. Baz was the first …

And that's what I'm thinking. 

(Why is that what I'm thinking?) 

I raise a hand towards my cheek, towards the spot. But I don't touch it. I don't … want to … (Why don't I want to?) 

I don't want to rub it away? 

Oh God, what is _wrong_ with me? 

And now I'm thinking that Baz's lips are soft. 

(And why is _that_ what I'm thinking?) 

I guess I thought boys were rougher than girls, like kissing sand paper, dry skin, hardness. 

But Baz is soft. 

(Must be thanks to all those bottles he keeps in our bathroom near the sink.) 

Oh God. 

We have to properly kiss, on the mouth, don't we? And he's going to kill me afterwards, I just know it. 

Baz is staring at me, unblinking, with stormy eyes. His mouth is pulled down on the corners—the left side twitches under my scrutiny. 

He's pretending, I realise. He's pretending to be calm and bored and vaguely displeased. 

I have to do it. I have to be the one. 

So I take hold of Baz's bicep, and I let myself sort of, well, fall into his face. 

Our mouths connect. 

(So soft!) 

I gasp a little bit into his lips. 

_I'm kissing Baz_. 

And it shouldn't feel as good as it does. 

It feels exciting, if I'm honest. Like this should be forbidden, but despite all logic it's being permitted to happen. 

Baz pulls back, and I try to chase his mouth for an embarrassing second. (Before self-preservation returns to me and I stop.) 

Baz's eyes are fire now—it's a bit frightening, and I think he really wants to kill me. (But this is nothing out of the ordinary.) 

He tears his eyes away from mine, scowling, and spits at the floor beside us. 

I just blink at him … because I don't understand that reaction. 

Something jabs at my chest, some _feeling_ , and then I'm watching Baz storming off, and Penny is jumping up into the air with a plastic bag in hand. 

I follow him. 

Baz pushes through the crowd of dancers, evidently not caring who he bumps into or how hard he jostles them. He's fast—he's heading straight for the doors, pushing through them now, and they're closing behind him with a loud bang that echoes through the hall. 

I rush after him, mumbling, 'Sorry! Excuse me!' as I go along. I know people are staring, I know they're drawing conclusions, and I don't _care_. 

I push though the doors and the cold night air smacks me truly awake. 

This is mental. I kissed Baz, as now I'm chasing after him. 

Baz's back is swiftly retreating across the frosty courtyard, in the direction of the Catacombs. The slight tail of his blazer flaps in the winter wind. 

'Baz!' 

He doesn't even slow his steps. 

I take off after him. 

(What am I doing? What do I even want to say?) 

'Baz!' I run full-speed, and I do manage to catch up to him. 'Baz,' I say again, through heavy puffs of breath visible in the air between us. I’m just behind him. 

'Fuck off, Snow.' He just sounds weary, his words are missing some of their usual bite. 

'I don't …' I start, closing the distance so that we're walking side-by-side at a rather too-brisk pace. I twist in order to stare at the side of his head. 'I don't know why that happened.' 

A muscle twitches in Baz's jaw, but he says nothing. He's staring straight ahead, unblinking. 

I look from him, to the path ahead of us, and then him again. 'I don't love you.' I feel like he needs to know this, that it wasn't my fault the mistletoe picked us. That it had to've been a fluke—or faulty magic. He needs to know that nothing's changed, not really. We're still the same as we ever were. Enemies. Rivals. Destined to come to a head, at the end. We can still share a room; we can keep everything as-is—it doesn't have to be weird between us. I'm not going to try to kiss him again; I’m not going to make him uncomfortable at all. Nothing needs to change. 

Baz sucks in a loud, halting breath. He won't even look at me. 

We walk a few paces, before he says, 'I know,' in clipped tones. 

Baz speeds up his pace, and I feel myself slowing. 

' **Don't follow me.** ' He says it like it's a spell, though I know it isn't. 

But I can't explain why I stop walking anyway, planted in place, as I watch him walk away—getting smaller and smaller, until he's gone.

**BAZ**

I know I'm crying within six steps of telling Snow not to follow me. I squeeze my hands into fists and grit my teeth so as not to make a single sound.

I'm pathetic. 

So bloody pathetic. 

It was only four short words—words I'd already known to be true. 

It makes no difference to hear them out loud, no difference at all. 

Because it wasn't as if I'd ever expected the golden boy, the Chosen One, the very epitome of heteronormative masculine perfection, to harbour any _special feelings_ for me underneath the obvious disdain and disgust he has exhibited since even our earliest days. 

I am a _monster_ , a dead thing. Merely an echo of a person. And Simon Snow is the only one to have ever really seen it—to have learnt the truth. The truth of me. 

I burst through the secret door into the Catacombs, and I disappear down into the underbelly of the earth, to exactly where I belong.

**SIMON**

I return to the party because I don't know what else to do.

It's rather loud, isn't it? 

And full of people—speaking and dancing along to cheesy holiday songs and milling about. Some are openly staring at me. 

I wince, and push through them all towards the snack table. 

Penny is there, near where I left her, with a tied-up plastic bag in hand that is pulsating a bit. She sees me, and kicks off from the wall. 

'Simon!' She's looking me up and down, as if to check for wounds. 'I'm so sorry, I don't know how it got out. It was tucked away in the back of my wardrobe, I've no idea … ' Her gaze drifts over my shoulder and focus in on someone behind me. Eyes narrow. 

Without warning, Penny has set off across the room. 

I spin round to watch her, as she marches up to Trixie and Keris dancing. Oh no. 

I hurry off to join her, and by the time I catch up, Penny is jabbing an accusatory finger at Trixie and saying a very loud, 'You!' 

'Hi Pen, and oh, hello Simon!' she says happily, dropping her arms from Keris’s shoulders, and turning to face us. 

'You let out the mistletoe!' 

Trixie smiles. 'Yes! Isn't it wonderful?' 

' _No_ , it is not wonderful, Trixie. Some people don't want to be forced to kiss,' Penny says. 

Trixie frowns. 'I don't understand. This is your invention, aren't you proud of it?' 

Keris is looking from Trixie to Penny with mild alarm. 

Penny exhales slow. 'No. I was wrong to make it.' 

Trixie tilts her head. 'Did something happen?' 

Penny looks at me, and I can't tell what she's thinking. 

And I don't know what I'm thinking either. I don't know if it was wrong or right. I don't think I know what to think. 

'Yes,' Penny says, turning back to Trixie. 'Please don't touch my things again.' 

She frowns. 'Okay, I won't, Pen.' 

'Good.' Penny grabs my wrist and pulls me away to a deserted corner. Spinning round, she eyes me up and down again. 'Are you all right?' 

'Yeah.' I shrug. 

'But you had to kiss Baz.' 

I shrug. 

Somehow I find I'm not upset about it, about the kiss. 

Maybe that in itself should concern me. 

'Simon …' 

I shrug again. (All right, I know I need to stop that.) 'It was sort of …' I'm searching for the right word. 'Good?' 

It _was_ good. 

Wow ... that feels like a revelation. 

And I don’t know what to make of it. 

'But you're not in love, Simon, you said so yourself. And you certainly don't love Baz—you hate him and you always have.' Penny is scrutinising me. 'Don't you hate him?' 

I open my mouth. 

And I close it. 

_I don't love you_. 

_I know_. 

I swallow. 

This is confusing. 

Penny looks at the quivering plastic bag hanging from her fingers. 'Love came to stay,' she mumbles to herself. Then she's back to searching my face. 'Was it not about already being in love? Did my spell actually … force you to fall in love?' Her eyes have gotten wider, with shock, or with horror. 

I shake my head. 'No, nothing like that.' 

She leans in and takes me by the biceps. 'You're sure you're all right?' 

' _Yes_.' I attempt a smile, which fades fast. 'But I think I've had enough of this party.' I think I'm just tired of it? It's so loud and busy. 

'I'll leave with you.' Penny loops her arm in mine, and we walk out together. 

_I don't love you_. 

There's something about our conversation back then, that sits funny with me. And I'm thinking it all across the courtyard while Penny is just as silent, walking beside me. 

I think it's weird because Baz should've laughed at me, then. Or he should've spat back, 'And I sure as all hell don't love _you_!' 

But he hadn't. He'd said, 'I know.' And his voice was a bit odd. 

I grab hold of Penny, and she nearly trips. 

'Simon—' 

'Sorry!' 

'What's wrong?' She looks concerned. 

How do I put this? 'Penny, you don't think … er, that Baz would love _me_ , would he?' 

She blinks at me for a moment. 

I know. It's preposterous. 

'I … wouldn't know.' 

'Right, yeah. Of course not.' He couldn't though, could he? We're talking about Baz, here. Evil vampire and posh git. He pushed me down the stairs once. He’s tried to kill me several times. 

She scrunches up her brow at me. 

'It's all right. It's bloody cold, let's keep moving.' 

We separate between Mummers House and the Cloisters, and I head up to my room. Our room. 

I'm not sure why, but my heart picks up speed as I approach our door. When I open it, though, the room is still, eerily quiet, and completely Baz-less. 

I don’t know if I’m disappointed, or relieved. 

But I get ready for bed anyhow, and—eventually—I do fall asleep. 

**Fire—**

**Fire everywhere. Licking up at the trees, roaring, searingly hot.**

**I'm sweating. And I'm frightened. My heart is pounding so hard it might break through my chest.**

**A dark lump, a sort-of triangle-shaped thing is a few metres away, visible through the wall of bright flames.**

**'Hello?' I call out.**

**My feet bring me closer.**

**(Run! I should be running in the opposite direction!)**

**It's so hot, and the fire is lapping at my ankles. It burns, it _hurts_. **

**I'm getting closer to the dark figure. It's a boy, just a boy, on the ground with his knees pulled in to his chest.**

**Black hair, tailored suit.**

**'Baz?'**

**He looks up, and his face is twisted in agony—tears streaming down his cheeks.**

**'Baz!'**

**I take off towards him, attempting to close the distance between us. I need to help him, I need to rescue him from the fire—**

**The closer I get, the farther away he is.**

**'Baz!' I yell. 'Baz I'm _trying_.' **

**He just looks at me, watching me, with those haunted eyes.**

**'Baz—'**

I wake up gasping for breath, with tears in my eyes. 

I frantically search my surroundings—it's just my room, it's just home … and nothing’s out of order, nothing’s burning. But I'm twisted up in my blankets, and I'm so hot in them I'm sweating. 

_Fuck_. 

I check Baz's bed—he's not in it. 

I check the time—it's half-four. 

He should be here; he should be sleeping. 

I untangle myself from my bed, throw a jumper on and my trainers, then I set off. 

It's snowing in thick, fluffy chunks when I exit Mummers House. I should've worn boots and proper trousers, I'm thinking as I hurry over the ground and its fresh, soft layer of snow. Maybe even a proper coat, really. 

The world seems asleep right now—all is still and silent and glowing from the moonlight’s reflection on the snow. 

I enter the White Chapel and wind my way through to the entrance to the Catacombs. I think I know where he is. Hastily, I light a wall torch, and head straight for Le Tombeau des Enfants. 

I was right. 

The fire on my torch illuminates a dark shape in the corner, surrounded by stacks of skulls. My heart is in my throat as I move closer, closer to him. 

'Go away, Snow.' 

I skid to a stop, and suck in a breath. At least I know he's okay now, he's alive. 

Baz slowly lifts his head to peer up at me. 

His eyes look red around the edges. Has he been crying? 

'I want you to leave,' Baz says again. He sounds exhausted. 

I lick my lips, and say, 'Come back to our room. It's late.' A shiver shakes through me just then, so I add, 'And cold.' 

'No,' Baz says, simply, and lowers his forehead back onto his knees. 

Stubborn arse—that's what I'm thinking, as I set the torch in the wall. 

'Fine, then I'll stay, too.' I move to sit down in front of Baz's drawn-in legs. It's bloody freezing sitting on the cold ground. But whatever, I guess this is going to be our night, then. 

I'm just looking at him, as the firelight flickers over us. 

I'm not even afraid right now, not of the fire in my dream, nor of anything. 

'I've realised something,' I say. Baz doesn't budge or twitch. No sign he's even listening. And he should probably make one of his quips about how I'm an idiot—something like, "don't strain yourself." (I don't know, he's better at insults than I am.) 

I take a breath and add, 'I realised I need you to be all right.' 

Baz's fingers momentarily tighten around his shins. 

If he were trapped in a place on fire, I'd go in to rescue him. 

If he were being harmed, in any way, I'd help. (I'd try.) 

I don't like to see him hurting like this. I don't like thinking about him crying, alone, in a tomb. Rather … I like to see him in our room, studying or playing violin or even being a right prat to me (because that’s normal). I like him sleeping, or eating salt and vinegar crisps in bed when he thinks _I'm_ sleeping. I want him steaming up our bathroom with cedar and bergamot—which I think are really good smells, actually. Great smells. Scents? Scents. 

'I need you to be safe,' I say, to a strand of black hair that has spilled over Baz's knee. 'And maybe that's a bit like love.' I shrug. (I know, I said I'd stop shrugging.) 

Baz lifts his face up off his knees—slowly. His lower face is cast in shadow, but I see eyebrows and eyelashes. He tilts his face up, and he's looking right at me. His eyes are wet. 

And here I am, sat cross-legged in front of him, with my pyjama bottoms and a dirty jumper, with my palms face up on the cold ground between us. 

He looks at me. 

And I look at him. 

It's just us. 

Just us and I know him—he knows me. 

And at the end of the day, I need him to be safe. 

'Simon …' It's just a whisper. It's very small. 

I look at him. The arch of his dark eyebrows, pinched a bit together now in the centre. Those eyes, pools of grey—with so much feeling there, so much of something I've never been able to give a name to. His nose, which is a bit too high, a bit crooked (because of me). And that mouth, often frowning, which is now slightly parted to show a sliver of teeth. I kissed him there, just a few hours earlier. And it was soft. 

He is beautiful. But beautiful is probably the least interesting thing about him. 

'I'd like to kiss you again,' I say under my breath, glancing from his mouth to his eyes. 

I realise it's true after I said it. 

(I don't know what it _means_ , but I do know it's true.) 

Baz's eyebrows bunch up even closer, making wrinkles up through the middle bit. I want to reach over and smooth my thumb over it. 

'Can I?' I ask. 

Slowly, painfully slowly, Baz nods. 

Without overthinking it, I navigate over the barrier that is Baz's drawn-in legs, and press my mouth to his, again. 

It's a relief, if I'm honest. 

Or it feels that way, anyhow. 

Baz pushes his lips into mine, kissing me back, leaning into me. _Soft_. His knees fall to each side of himself, taking down their barricade, so I move in closer, balancing my weight on his thighs now. 

He fists at my jumper, tugging me into him, as his mouth slips and rights itself. Slips, and kisses at minutely different parts of my lips. 

I change the angle, and nudge his mouth open with mine. He _allows_ it. And a very tentative tongue meets _my_ very tentative tongue. 

We're _snogging_ , for real this time. Because we've both agreed to it. 

And it's brilliant. 

I lose track of time. 

Baz pulls away first, breathing in sharp, halting breaths. 

I realise that my hands have worked their ways down his thighs and are now around his hips. I'm practically in his lap, really. 

Baz leans his forehead into my cheek, and pants against my neck. 

And wow, yeah? Just … wow. 

Also I'm trembling a bit. I _am_ quite cold, so I think that's why. 

'Let's go back,' I say. 'It's freezing.' 

He nods against my face.

**BAZ**

I don't know what alternate reality I've inadvertently stepped in to, but I'm not about to question it.

Snow dislodges himself from my lap, and hauls me up with him. 

We stand, face-to-face for an awkward moment—he's staring at my mouth like he stares at breakfast. 

Clearing his throat, Snow moves to pick up the torch from the wall sconce, and says, 'Come on.' 

We walk out together, though I'm trailing slightly behind. 

This night has been exceptionally strange. I really wouldn't be surprised if someone jumped out from behind the wall with a camera, to announce that this was all a prank for television. 

But no one seems to be jumping out as we wind through the tunnels lit only by Snow's torch. 

We break out into the silent Chapel, and head straight out into the night. It's snowed a lot since I've been in the Catacombs, but it's stopped now. The world is beautiful under a coat of fresh, sparkling snow. 

I imagine the sun will be rising in about an hour or so. Crowley, I'm bloody exhausted. 

Snow breaks the silence first as we walk. 'Do you think it can be this way now?' 

'What are you talking about?' 

Snow is worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. 'You know, _snogging_. Trying to get along. Just … yeah, trying. What if we do that, instead of fighting?' 

Oh Morgana, I _am_ in an alternate reality. 

'Do you want that?' I ask, keeping my voice as steady as I can manage. 

'Yeah,' he says, bloody softly and sweetly. 'I really do.' 

I'm looking at Mummers House, coming closer into view. 'Me too.' 

'Yeah?' And he sounds _hopeful_ —it does something to me. 

'Yes, Snow.' 

He laughs, and grabs hold of my wrist, pulling me into him. 

'Snow, we're in _public_ —' I say, before he pulls me into another of his searing kisses. (He's so good at this.) 

And I just melt into it. (I'm weak, I know.) 

He pulls away, and he's grinning at me. Then he's biting at his lip to keep from grinning too wide. 

'I thought you were cold.' 

'Fucking _freezing_ ,' he says cheerfully, and guides me back in the direction of our turret.

**SIMON**

Once we're back in our room, I push Baz up against our door, and I kiss him. (I've always wanted to do this.) (Wait—have I?)

'Simon,' he murmurs into my mouth. 

'Mm,' I answer. I love it when he says my given name. 

Baz pulls off, looking pained, and a bit bashful. 'We really should try to get _some_ sleep, don't you think?' 

Oh. Well, s'pose. 

'Fine,' I say. 

He laughs under his breath—it's a lovely sound, and pushes past me for the en suite. 

I'm left standing there, ringing my hands, and eyeing my messed-up bed. I remember the dream, the panic, the sweat-drenched sheets. 

And now Baz and I are snogging? And we've agreed to be—I don't know—civil? 

It's a lot. 

But I think this is what I want. 

I think we should've tried this earlier, actually. (The snogging.) 

Baz comes back from the bathroom, smelling of his fancy face lotion. He looks me up and down before turning to his own wardrobe. 'You may want to change your pyjamas.' 

I look down. And okay, yeah. I'm a bit muddy and wet in places. 

I'm going to take another shower, I decide. With all the sweating, the Catacombs, the nearly freezing. Yeah, a hot shower. Quick, though. I want to kiss Baz at least one more time before he falls asleep. 

So, I do. I shower. And I come out the bathroom slightly warmer, much cleaner, and with fresh pyjama bottoms. 

Baz is in his bed, facing the wall. 

I hover near his bedside, and make a quick decision. (I know, everything's quick decisions today, so what's one more?) 'I'm coming in.' 

Baz twists as I'm lifting the covers, and slipping under. 'Simon—' He rolls to face me. 

'Yeah.' 

I'm in his bed. It's mad, isn't it? 

'What are we doing?' Baz asks. 

I search his face, lit only by moonlight coming in past the curtain, and he's searching mine. 'Something new,' I say, as I lean in towards his mouth. 

He kisses me back for another—frankly incredible—kiss, then breaks away. 'Come to Hampshire for the holidays.' 

I recoil—and it's not out of horror, per se. Just … that's the last thing I'd ever expect to hear right now. 'What?' 

'Spend the holidays with me.' 

I blink at him. 'But your family … well, they hate me.' 

That's … that's also something to keep in mind with this new … whatever-this-is. 

'Politics,' Baz says simply. 'You'll be safe, I guarantee it. I'd even cast **be our guest**.' 

I couldn’t possibly … (Could I?) 

'But … why?' 

Don’t get me wrong, it’d be nice. And I don’t really want to spend the holidays here, completely alone. I don’t want to have to break into the kitchens on Christmas day, just so I won’t starve. 

And … and I really like that Baz has asked me. 

He looks at me. And I look at him. He looks bloody exhausted, not in his right mind because of that, I'm sure. 

'I want you to,' he says quietly, and it makes my chest feel warm. 

' _Why_?' Merlin knows I should probably just say _yes_ , but I really want to know. 

He exhales hard, and falls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. 'I suppose because if we have two weeks apart, I'll think that once I come back you want this anymore.' 

Oh. Well … that hadn't occurred to me. Maybe after two weeks _he_ would come to his senses, and remember that he hates me, and won't want to snog me anymore. It is a fair point. 

'Yeah, all right.' 

He turns to me. 'All right what?' 

'I accept.' I grin at him. 

And he smiles back. He's lovely. 

This time, _he_ kisses _me_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ❤️


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